


Darken My Doorstep

by ughmycroft



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Implied Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ughmycroft/pseuds/ughmycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is convinced that Sherlock is alive. When the homeless network delievered a message with the words 'Alive. Captured. Queen.' John begins his hunt for his captured flatmate. Dark!Mycroft. Ficlet for a giveaway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darken My Doorstep

"You’re so beautiful when you’re tied up and all the words you want to scream so badly can’t make it past your gag, Sherlock." Mycroft stood inside the guest bedroom of his cottage house, staring down at his brother who sat in the floor weakly tugging against his restraints. He was efficiently tired up to the bed’s baseboard, his arms not only tied but handcuffed. He smirked at the crusted blood he saw there, "I told you not to struggle, little brother, it won’t do you any good."

Mycroft was in his best fitted suit, a deep blue tweed, a cream vest and tie lay in contrast to the rest of his ensemble. He was meeting John Watson today. He wanted to once again reassure him that his people were searching for his prodigal brother. He inwardly grimaced. His firts - and only mistake, he mused - was letting his brother stay imprisioned without restraints. It had barely been a day before the homeless network delivered a letter to John. “Alive. Captured. Queen.”

He had to say he was surprised John took the letter seriously, “Of course it’s forged John, I am his genius brother, if you’ve forgotten. I would know.” It hadn’t however changed John’s mind he could clearly see. That was the silver of hope John had been searching for. No amount of distraction had kept him from searching, even his top double agent, Mary Morstan, had only seriously delayed him a few days before he left in the night running through the streets and much to Mycroft’s dismay avoiding the street’s camera’s. 

A few weeks had past since they last spoke but he was more than positive that John would be here soon. He was tracking Sherlock, he knew it would be foolish to think otherwise. And John’s MI6 clearance told Mycroft he would not only find Sherlock but he would know Mycroft was behind the capture. It wasn’t that he wanted to seriously hurt or maim his brother, he simply wanted him to suffer for all the discomfort he had put the family through. Poor mummy had nearly suffered heart attack after the news showed a photo of Sherlock’s bloodied head. 

No, such behavior would not be tolerated. A few more days and Sherlock would be broken, a good child once more, more like Mycroft, more like father, not the emotional, dramatic roller coaster he was when he was with John Watson. That man was both a great and terrible influence on Sherlock. He taught him to treat people with kindness and respect but he constantly put himself and his family in danger just to give John the danger kink he craved. It was always something more danger, more violent, more depraved every time.

Sherlock whined, straining his neck against the gag. Mycroft almost pitied him as his let the gag slip free.

"Is there something you wish to say little brother." He ran a pale finger against Sherlock’s cheek tracing the high bones as he spoke.

"He’s going to kill you Mycroft. Rip your pretty little head off." Sherlock, surprisingly he thought, didn’t spit in his face after he spoke, he merely turned away refusing to let his only brother look directly into his eyes. "You’re sick Mycroft. Sick."

Mycroft rolled his eyes before slipping the gag back on, “Yes, yes, and you’re a demon sent to terrorize me constantly to the point I am forced to take matters this drastically.”

The door bell chimes jerked both Holmes brothers from their thoughts. Sherlock shivered thankful Mycroft was leaving him with out touching him more. Mycroft fixed his suit, “Well, it’s time to fool your little boyfriend.”

He opened the door raising a questioning eyebrow at John. He stood outside, his body set in laser-like focus on Mycroft, his gun aimed to kill and his finger placed firmly on the trigger.

"Where the fuck is Sherlock?"

Mycroft let himself grin just barely, “John, whatever are you talking about? This is my summer home? Sherlock is not here.” He looked at down before looking back up to John sincerity in his voice, “John please, Sherlock’s dead.”

John did not waver as he stepped forward slight, “I swear to god Mycroft, I will kill you. I will shoot you and then I will walk into your house and I will take him home.”

Mycroft backed up, standing to the side, his arm elegantly gesturing for John to enter, “Be my guest John.”

He turned away from John to walk into the kitchen. He began to ask John if he wanted a drink as the base of the gun his skull with a deafening crack. Well I certainly misjudged this situation, thought Mycroft as he slumped to the floor.

John looked around, sure that there would be armed guards here at any moment. The longer he stood the more certain he was correct. This had to be the safe house Sherlock had told him about through the homeless network. He almost hadn’t caught the hint, ‘Queen’. They had always joked that if Mycroft ever kidnapped them against their will they would use the code-word Queen in order to find one another. John had never though a day would pass when it was honestly possible. 

He slipped through the house checking each door before finding one that would not open, he aimed and fired, shooting the door’s lock off before throwing open the door. Sherlock lay slumped against the bed, his vision hazy, and his head drooped against his chest, his breathe labored. 

"Sherlock, Sherlock, can you hear me." He gently patted the side of his face, removing the gag before he continued untying the robes. He could hear Sherlock’s breathing speed up, "John, john? My john? Oh god, Oh thank god."

John was furious, more furious than when he had first came in. To kidnap his best friend was one thing, but to hurt him? He could see the bruises and lacerations, the places where the ropes had set too long and festered. His inner doctor was screaming but he wanted to get out before Mycroft woke up.

He heard the noise behind him before he could react, a gun went off and he stayed kneeled, frozen gripping Sherlock tight. Why am I not dead? He slowly turned around, his eyes widening, Mycroft was on the floor a puddle of blood surrounding his body, he turned back around to stare at Sherlock.

His best friend stared into his eyes, his blue piercing eyes red and tired, and filling with tears, “John, John, I had to do it.” John looked down Sherlock’s free hand grasping his browning tightly. He must have grabbed my gun from the holster he thought suddenly.

He spoke softly pulling Sherlock up into his arms before walking him over Mycroft’s now still body, “It’s okay Sherlock, you’re going home.”


End file.
